


Running From Shadows

by spurklie



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Daddy Issues, First Time, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Protectiveness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-25
Updated: 2018-07-25
Packaged: 2019-06-16 06:39:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15431205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spurklie/pseuds/spurklie
Summary: This isn't any kind of life for him, living in a country where he doesn’t know a single person or speak the language, as some sort of replacement family for a man who couldn't even be the father or husband he needed to be.





	Running From Shadows

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to nomelon for the beta

Isaac never asks to go with him, and Chris doesn’t think about bringing him along. Right up until the night when he’s at the front door of the apartment, when he turns around, opens the door to Isaac’s bedroom, and asks if he has a passport. Isaac nods as though he’s admitting to doing something wrong. Chris leans his forehead against the doorframe. Speaks without looking at him:

“Pack a bag, if you’re coming.”

Isaac packs, and doesn’t ask any questions, not about where they’re going or why. He looks to Chris to see what to do in the airport and on the plane, making Chris wonder if it’s the first time he’s been on one. It’s only when they’re pulling up to the Argent house in the Grand Est region of northern France, that he sits up. “This is yours?”

“It belongs to the Argent family. Has done for generations. Guess that means it’s mine now.” Chris gets out of the car and takes his duffle bag and the groceries he bought in the village out of the trunk.

Isaac carries the rest of the bags and follows behind him into the house. Chris watches him sniffing the air. He wonders if a hunter’s homestead smells threatening to a werewolf, but Isaac just looks around, wandering cautiously from room to room.

“Can you bring in some logs from the shed out back and light a fire while I make us some food?” Chris asks. Isaac nods, looking relieved to have something to do.

The house has been somewhat updated over the years, on Chris’ sporadic visits. It was actually on the grid now after two centuries of candles and open fire cooking. It even had internet connection, albeit patchy. Isaac gets the fire lit, and they eat rice and beans in front of it in silence. Chris watches the firelight sculpt Isaac’s face, wondering what the fuck they’re supposed to do now they’re here.

The first days Chris manages to fill by checking the whole house for any repairs that are needed. He drives to the nearest hardware store for supplies, Isaac silently going along with whatever Chris is doing, helping him carry sacks of plaster and gallons of paint.

Isaac goes out by himself to explore the grounds around the house, never venturing too far away. Chris watches him from the window sometimes, a lone figure against the sky.

They sit in front of the fire in the evenings, reading or watching movies Chris can’t remember when the credits roll. Days and nights pass with Chris managing not to think about anything. He runs through grey fields, until his lungs are screaming and his muscles ache. He doesn’t think about anything, until he’s drinking water after a run in the kitchen one morning a few weeks after they arrived, and Isaac is eating from a bowl of oatmeal at the table. There’s a hole in the cuff of his shirt. Chris looks at him likes he’s seeing him for the first time since they arrived.

“You need new clothes,” he says.

Isaac looks up, surprised, then tugs at his cuff. “No, it’s okay.”

Chris rubs his eyes, cursing himself for being so wrapped up in himself that he hadn’t noticed. “We’ll go into the next town over and get things you need, it’s only going to get colder around here.”

Isaac swallows, looking embarrassed. “Uh, Mr Argent, I don’t really have any way to…”

“Isaac,” Chris interrupts. “Don’t worry about it.”

“You don’t have to…”

“Christ, Isaac, what else am I going to spend my money on?” It hurts to admit it. There’s no one else left. Isaac is staring at him, uncertain, so Chris softens his tone. “Look, it’s fine. I didn’t expect... You came here with me. Clothes are... It’s nothing. I need some too.”

Isaac nods slowly, prodding his oatmeal.

“What do you think you need?” Chris asks.

Isaac flushes, because as it turns out, he needs a lot.

In the car on the way into town, Chris is reminded of taking Allison shopping for the new school year when Victoria had had to work. He hadn’t realised teenagers needed such a bewildering array of clothes. It’s not exactly the same with Isaac, who looks deeply uncomfortable when they walk into the large clothing store Chris has been to a few times before. His French is rusty but passable and he’s able to convey to the shop assistant who greets them what they’re looking for.

“Hey,” Chris says. “Pick out what you like, you’re the one who’s going to be wearing them. But you’ll need a decent jacket and coat, and warm layers. It gets cold here, this isn’t California. And cover all your bases. Changes of clothes, hats, scarves. Let’s get this over with in one go.”

Isaac takes a deep breath and nods. Chris shows him where to find things then leaves him alone.

When Chris goes looking for him half an hour later he finds Isaac looking lost with a very small pile in his cart. Chris sighs. “Isaac, you’re gonna need more than that.”

Isaac looks guiltily down at his cart. “I saw the price tags, Mr Argent. I can’t ask you to spend that much money on me.”

Chris shrugs and takes the cart off him. “So? It’s good quality, so it will last and neither of us will have to suffer through this again for a very long time, hopefully.” He strides off in the direction of the outerwear, and Isaac falls in step behind him.

Chris glances behind him. “How about I help you? But you have to tell me if you don’t like anything.”

“Okay,” Isaac says, sounding relieved.

Together they gradually amass a pile of vests, shirts, sweaters and jeans. A heavy canvas jacket. A lined wool coat. Chris watches, amused, as Isaac picks out several scarves with enthusiasm. When he’s handing over the credit card to pay, Isaac mutters out his thanks and Chris suddenly becomes aware of how this could look. He hopes fervently that the shop assistants assume Isaac is his son.

They stop at another store for pajamas and underwear, which Chris insists Isaac can manage the purchasing of by himself, but if he comes out with nothing Chris threatens to choose for him. Isaac emerges with two bags, and Chris is satisfied. Another store for boots and sneakers, and a _pharmacie_ for whatever toiletries Isaac deems necessary.

Just before Chris is about to call it a day and go for food, he spots a phone store and impulsively goes inside. Isaac is uncomprehending until Chris hands him the bag when they’re outside, containing the newest model of the phone Chris owned. Isaac’s eyes widen. “No, I don’t need…”

“You do need. And a laptop, but we can order that online and get it delivered,” Chris says shortly. “Come on. Lunch.”

Isaac starts talking over the food, just innocuous chatter about the language and the weather and how everything smells different in France, but every time he smiles Chris has to find something to do with his hands to distract himself.

He doesn’t sleep well that night.

 

                                                                                                                          ***

 

 He comes downstairs in the morning to Isaac drinking coffee, leaning against the counter in the kitchen, dressed in black jeans and a long sleeved maroon t-shirt.

“Morning,” he says.

“Morning,” Chris says, pouring himself a coffee.

“Mr Argent…”

“It’s Chris. Just Chris. You’re making me feel ancient.”

“Chris -” Isaac hesitates. “All the stuff you bought for me. Is there a way you want to be paid back?”

Chris sets his cup down. “You don’t owe me anything. I just…” he leans back and rubs his head. “Let me do this for you, okay?”

When he drops his hands Isaac has a strange look on his face. “Mr Arg-- Chris. Why’d you bring me here?”

Chris laughs bitterly. “You got somewhere better to be, kid?”

Isaac looks away and takes a sip of coffee.

“Shit. I didn’t mean that.” Chris sighs. There’s silence for a minute.

“I don’t know why I brought you here.”

Isaac is still, watching Chris. He suddenly looks incredibly young.

Chris clears his throat. “But anytime you want to go home, you just have to say.”

Isaac shakes his head. “I like it here. Quieter than Beacon Hills, anyway.”

“You don’t miss your pack?”

Isaac shrugs and rinses out his cup, avoiding Chris’ gaze. “Don’t feel like I need one.”

Before Chris can figure out what he means, Isaac slips out of the kitchen and goes upstairs.

 

***

 

 Chris sits front of the fire, bottle of whiskey beside him, hours after Isaac has gone to bed. He should send him home, but he's too much of a fucking coward to do it. This isn't any kind of life for him, living in a country where he doesn’t know a single person or speak the language, as some sort of replacement family for a man who couldn't even be the father or husband he needed to be. Isaac should be going to college and making friends, not rattling around an old house as company to a man who’s too wrapped up in his own grief to notice when there are holes in his fucking clothes. Chris takes another drink. He doesn't want to be Isaac's father, he can’t be that, but he’s not sure who he should be for him. He misses _her_ , misses her smile. She knew she couldn't be the daughter she was expected to be, but she still tried to be a daughter he could be proud of. He was proud. And he’d never told her.

When he wakes up on the couch the next day, there's a glass of water and a bottle of aspirin on the table in front of him.

 

***

 

 Neither of them will ever be big conversationalists, but Chris starts teaching Isaac basic French after Isaac had balked at the suggestion of getting a tutor. They get coffee in the village a few times a week, and Isaac even starts shyly returning the owner’s _bonjour_.

They get a lot of work done around the house, insulating the attic and plastering the walls.

On the full moon, Chris chains Isaac up, and has to look down and pretend to concentrate on the lock when Isaac unhesitatingly holds out his wrists. Chris doesn’t even try to sleep that night, staring at the living room ceiling on the couch in front of the dying fire. The house has been home to generations of hunters, and he has a teenage werewolf chained up in the next room. When the growling edges into whimpers, Chris can’t take it anymore and goes to check on him. Isaac is curled up in a ball, trembling, but Chris can see him stiffen when he becomes aware of Chris’ presence. Chris doesn’t approach him, but slides down beside the doorway and sits, leaning his head back against the wall, wolfsbane bullets in the gun tucked into the back of his waistband.

Isaac’s whimpers slowly fade and they sit in silence for the rest of the night. Chris didn’t think he’d sleep, but when his head rolls to the side his eyes open, squinting in the pale morning light. He pushes himself to standing, joints stiff from a night on the floor. Isaac is lying with his face pillowed in his hands.

“Isaac,” Chris says quietly. He touches Isaac’s shoulder, his hair, and Isaac sighs and opens his eyes, focusing on Chris.

“Did I do anything?” Isaac whispers.

“No, Isaac, you didn’t.”

Chris goes into the other room to fetch the keys and lets Isaac out of the chains. He sits up, blinking, with tousled hair, looking for all the world like he just woke up from a nap. Chris grins despite himself and Isaac smiles back, confused.

Chris holds out a hand to pull him up. “Get dressed and I’ll take you for breakfast, then we can come back here and crash.”

Isaac devours a small mountain of eggs and pastries. Chris thought that he would be exhausted, but he’s looking around him with bright inquisitive eyes.

“Did you stay with me last night?” he asks, looking down at his half empty plate.

“Yeah, I did.”

“Why?”

“Couldn’t sleep with all the howling.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay. Hey.” He catches Isaac’s gaze. “Kidding. I wouldn’t have slept anyway.”

They finish breakfast in silence.

They’re in the car, nearly back at the house, when Isaac turns to Chris. “Can I - “

“Can you what?”

Isaac takes a deep breath. “Sleep in your bed?”

Chris’ stomach twists. “That’s not… No. It’s… not a good idea, Isaac.”

“You stayed with me last night,” Isaac argues.

“That was different.”

Isaac stares out the window.

“I feel safer when you’re there,” Isaac says finally.

Chris doesn’t know what to say to that. Isaac doesn’t ask again, and Chris heads straight for the shower when they get in, leaning his forehead against the tiles. Unbidden, an image of Isaac comes into his head, pale skin and blond hair in contrast to the dark blue sheets of Chris’ bed. Chris feels his muscles tensing and his cock getting heavy between his legs. “Fuck,” Chris mutters.

Isaac’s door is closed when he comes out of the bathroom, and Chris pauses outside it for a moment before heading to his own room. He just lies there, sure that Isaac would open the door and not sure if he would make him leave if he did.

Isaac never does, and Chris falls into a restless sleep.

They barely speak over the next few days. Isaac spends his time out wandering or holed up in his room. Chris doesn’t know how to fix it. He’s had enough one night over a silent dinner.

“Should I try to find out about packs around here?”

Isaac freezes. “Do you want to send me away?”

Chris inwardly curses. “No! No. Not what I meant. You can stay here as long as you want, I promise. It’s just. I don’t want you to feel - lost.”

“I don’t feel lost. And I don’t want to join another pack. Who would just speak French all the time, anyway.”

“Isaac…”

Isaac fixes him with a strange stare. “I just want to stay here with you.”

“I’m not your pack.”

Isaac says nothing.

“Isaac. Is that how you see me?”

Isaac fiddles with the salt shaker. “You took me into your home. Watched over me. Other packs have humans in them.”

Chris’ mouth goes dry. “Derek's your alpha,” he manages.

Isaac shakes his head. “Not any more. He left. I left.”

“I can’t be your alpha, Isaac.”

“I’m not asking you to. You’re here. You took me with you. That’s enough. That’s more than anyone else has ever done for me.”

Chris sits back in his chair, as Isaac fixes that stare on him.

“So I can stay? And you’ll stay?” he asks softly.

When Chris finally nods Isaac smiles at him in a way that makes his chest hurt.

 

***

 

 Chris thinks about it. They could keep working on the damn house until all that’s left to be done is to tear it down and start a new one, or they could try something else. He wakes Isaac up early one morning.  

“Get dressed. Something warm.”

They walk to woodland about a mile from the house.

“What are we doing?”

Chris checks his rifle. “Hunting.”

“With just one gun?”

“You think you'll need a gun?”

“No.”

“Yeah, I think just one gun today. See how it goes.”

“Why’d you bring me, then?”

Chris sits on a tree stump. “What do you hear?”

Isaac looks at him. “What do you mean?”

“What I said. What do you _hear_? What can you smell? You’re a wolf, a predator. Behave like one.”

Isaac hesitates, then walks a few steps away. Chris watches him as he tilts his head and breathes in. “I hear traffic. I hear water.”

“ _I_ can hear traffic. Focus. What’s underneath? What’s quiet?”

Isaac closes his eyes, and Chris waits.

“There’s a fox's den. Over there.”

“Okay, but we’re not going to eat foxes. What else?”

Isaac sniffs the air. “Rabbits. And deer.”

Chris stands and shoulders the rifle. “Lead the way.”

They spot a young buck through the trees, and Chris fells it with a shot to the head. Takes a bit of effort to get it back the house, but they end up with enough venison to last for months.

Isaac watches Chris as he butchers it.

“You didn't need me. You could have tracked that deer yourself.”

Chris shrugs. “Maybe, maybe not. Sure as hell couldn't have sniffed it out.”

“Will you teach me how to shoot? So I'm not just your bloodhound next time?”

“You don't want to rip their throats out?”

“Not really. I’d like to learn to shoot.”

“Fine. But you butcher anything you kill.”

Isaac looks dubious, but nods agreement.

He’s a fast learner. Turns out werewolves make good hunters.

 

***

 

 Chris isn’t surprised when his bedroom door opens a few nights later. He rolls over to see Isaac, looking apprehensive. He says nothing, just sighs and moves over to make room for him. Isaac climbs in but doesn’t touch him, seeming to concentrate on making as little disturbance as possible. Chris drifts off to sleep, feeling Isaac’s body heat radiate through the sheets.

When he wakes up in the morning Isaac is curled up in a ball beside him, face pressed into Chris’ side. He slides out of the bed without waking him, and goes to the bathroom. In the shower he wraps a hand around himself and comes in under a minute while he can still smell Isaac on his skin. He’s so, so fucked.

 

***

 

 They don’t talk about it, this thing. Days are spent fixing up the house, eating, reading, driving. They explore for miles around but always return to the house, Isaac sleeping in Chris’ bed every night.  He starts coming into Chris’ room while the light is still on. Chris is reading one night when he unconsciously lays his hand on Isaac’s hair, gently scratching his head, and he hears Isaac’s quiet sigh of contentment.

The house is slowly patched up, painted and mended. It helps, to see the changes that they both are making. 

 

***

 

 There’s a storm. The wind howls outside, and branches tap on the window. Chris wakes to Isaac climbing on top of him, burying his face in Chris’ neck.

“Isaac,” Chris whispers. Isaac lifts his head, looking terrified.

“Let me, just let me, _please…_ ” he breathes as he leans in and kisses Chris clumsily. Chris freezes for a second, feels the soft wet heat of Isaac’s mouth against his before he curls his hands around Isaac’s shoulders and gently pushes him back.

“Isaac - we _can’t_.”

Isaac just looks at him dumbly before his brow creases and he backs away.

“S-sorry.”

He turns and runs out of the room.

“Isaac, wait!”

Chris follows, but Isaac is down the stairs and out the front door before Chris can catch up to him. He can barely see Isaac’s figure through the wind and the rain, before he’s swallowed up in the darkness. Chris is barefoot. He curses as he pulls on a pair of running shoes and grabs a torch. He runs toward the trees, icy rain hitting his face like shards of glass.

He nearly slips in the mud several times as he walks through the woods, calling for Isaac. He doesn’t know long he walks, but he’s soaked through and freezing when he finally gives up.

He calls Isaac’s name when he gets back in the house, hoping he’d come back in the meantime, but there’s no reply.

He waits for the sun to come up.

 

 ***

 

 Chris is out the door again at first light. He hopes he’ll be able to follow Isaac’s tracks, but the rain has washed everything away.

He walks around for hours, intermittently calling Isaac’s name. As the sun starts to go down again he's convinced that he’s chased Isaac away, that he can’t even hold on to someone who would follow him to another continent without question. He finally heads back toward the house, thinking he’ll wait there for a few hours and see if Isaac makes his own way back. He’s about half an hour’s walk from the house when something makes him stop. It’s not even a noise, but he turns off the path anyway. He sees him about twenty feet away, and is so relieved he has to lean forward and brace his hands on his legs. He suspects Isaac had shifted and been running the entire time or else he would have found him before then.

He’s naked, streaked with mud and blood, leaning against a tree, and curled up with his arms wrapped around his knees. He lifts his head at Chris’ approach, looking ready to bolt.

“Isaac, it’s okay. I’m not mad, I swear. Please don’t run.” Chris keeps his voice low.

Isaac says nothing, just stares at Chris with wide scared eyes. Chris squats down beside him, but doesn’t touch.

“Isaac. Will you come back to the house? We don’t have to talk about anything right now, and I swear to you, no matter what, I won’t send you away, not ever. I just, I need you to come back, okay? Please.”

Isaac still says nothing, but the terror in his eyes seems to recede. Chris reaches out slowly to touch his hand. He’s freezing, which is concerning given that werewolves are supposed to run hot. He takes off his coat and wraps it around Isaac’s shoulders.

“Come on. Just come back with me, and then you can decide whatever it is you want to do.”

Isaac nods slightly, and lets Chris help him to his feet and fasten the coat around him. Together, they slowly walk back to the house.

Isaac goes straight to bed after a bath and some food. He says nothing, and Chris doesn’t push it, figuring that a wrong move at this point could send Isaac running away for good. He stays out of his way the next morning too, letting Isaac know where he is and leaving doors open, but otherwise leaves him be. It takes another full day before Isaac actually approaches him, and even then he still doesn’t speak.

Chris is trying to watch a movie when Isaac silently enters the room. Chris glances up but says nothing, and Isaac takes the armchair opposite the couch. They sit and watch the movie, and when it’s over Isaac gets up and goes upstairs. Chris figures it’s progress.

 

***

 

 It takes another day for Isaac to start giving one word answers to questions, and several more for him to engage in conversation. Chris decides that he’s waited long enough. They’re sanding down the walls in the library, so at least they aren’t required to make prolonged eye contact.

“So,” he says, carefully rubbing around an electrical outlet, “Want to talk about it?”

He hears Isaac’s sanding stop for a beat before it starts up again.

“Talk about what?”

“I think you know.”

“You said I don’t have to talk about it.”

“I said right then. Not a week later, when it’s obviously still bothering you. I still mean what I said. There’s nothing you can do or say that will make me want to send you away. If you want to leave, that’s another story, but I’d really prefer if you didn’t.”

Isaac sighs. “What do you want me to say?”

“I don’t want you to say anything, I want you to talk to me, tell me what you’re thinking. Do you hate me? Are you scared of me? Is that why you ran?”

“I don’t - hate you.” Isaac’s voice is deliberate, like he has to carefully control it.

“Then what?”

“I - was embarrassed. And I’m sorry. I’m sorry for - what I did.”

Chris stops sanding and looks at him. “Hey. You have nothing to be sorry about.”

“Don’t I? I ruined everything.” Isaac doesn’t look up, just keeps viciously sanding a particular patch of the wall.

“You didn’t ruin anything. _I_ didn’t handle it very well, and I’m sorry for that.”

“How should you have handled it then?” Isaac sits down, leaning against the wall, fiddling with the piece of sandpaper in his hands.

Chris looks up at the ceiling. “I have no fucking idea.” Isaac breathes out a laugh, and Chris smiles and sits down next to him. “I know, real helpful.”

They sit in silence for a minute, then Chris clears his throat.

“Look. I didn’t plan for any of this. I needed to get away, and I wanted you to come with me, because, I think, honestly, I didn’t want to leave you there to deal with the fallout. I didn't think about anything past that, and so here we are.”

Isaac says nothing.

“And as for, you kissing me, I just... I understand, I really do. And I’m flattered. It’s just not a good idea. I’m old enough - I mean you were dating my daughter.”

Isaac stiffens.

“Isaac. I’m all kinds of fucked up right now, and the fact that my last name is Argent and you’re a werewolf isn’t going to go away.”

Isaac moves an imperceptible amount, just so his leg brushes against Chris’. “I don’t care about that. And you’re - you’re all I have,” he whispers.

“I know I am, but that’s why I shouldn't mess you around with something like this. I don’t know if you have it clear in your head who I am to you. Your alpha? Your father? Or someone you...“ Chris’ voice trails off.

Isaac turns to stare at him. It’s the most eye contact than he’s made since the night before the woods, and Chris is transfixed by him.

“Stop thinking that I’m a broken little boy with daddy issues. I know what I want. I know what you are to me.”

Chris swallows.

“Isaac…”

“But I won’t run again. I just - I was so scared I’d lost the only person who looked out for me after… after Allison.”

It’s the first time either of them have said her name. Isaac drops his gaze and tears the sandpaper into little pieces.

“You haven’t. You won’t,” Chris says.

Isaac surprises him then by smiling at him, eyes glittering. He pushes against the wall and stands up, and Chris follows. Isaac wraps his arms around his waist in a brief, fierce hug, and Chris hesitates for a moment then wraps his arms around Isaac’s shoulders, one hand on the back of his head.

“You’re all I have too, you know,” he whispers into Isaac’s hair, and he feels Isaac nod.

 

 ***

 

 That night, Isaac opens Chris’ door, and they look at each other for a moment before Isaac walks forward and climbs in beside him, lies on his front, and closes his eyes. Chris keeps reading his book, but after he turns a page, he lets his hand drop to Isaac’s head.

 

 ***

 

They fall back into routine. Isaac leans against Chris on the couch in the evenings, and most mornings Chris wakes with Isaac plastered against him. He tells himself that it’s fine, that wolves just like physical contact, that he knows what they are to each other, and that things can just go on like this. He jerks off in the shower thinking about Isaac’s mouth and tells himself it doesn't mean anything.

 

***

 

 He opens his eyes, blinking in the almost dark, not sure what woke him. He becomes slowly aware of Isaac curled up next to him, murmuring with his face tucked into Chris’ shoulder. Chris rubs Isaac’s back, cups his face between his hands, and without thinking, presses a kiss to his forehead. Isaac wriggles around, barely awake, but he tugs Chris’ shirt aside to get at skin, and nuzzles against the curve of his neck, _scenting_ him. Chris inhales sharply. He should stop this now, he should get up and take a cold shower and they should not talk about this tomorrow, but Isaac is warm and alive and smells like the home they’ve built.

Isaac’s eyes are open when he moves back to meet Chris’ gaze. He slowly, tentatively moves forward and kisses him on the mouth, soft and chaste, then stops, leaning his forehead against Chris’. Chris takes a deep breath and kisses him back, harsh and desperate, licking into Isaac's mouth and biting his bottom lip.

They kiss for a long time, and Chris works his hand under Isaac’s pajama top, rubbing up and down his spine. He flips them, looking down at Isaac on the bed and bracketing him between his knees. Isaac is wide-eyed in the dim light, and Chris is struck by how beautiful he is. He shouldn’t be fucking _possible_. Chris cradles his head and kisses him again, and Isaac spreads his legs apart so Chris can feel the hard heat of him against his cock.

Chris bites out a groan. “Do you want…”

“Yes, yes, “ Isaac breathes, and Chris pulls layers of clothing up and off. Isaac looks almost ethereal, and Chris has to touch, has to taste. Isaac tilts his head back as Chris drags his mouth down Isaac’s throat and wraps a hand around his cock. He slides down the bed and swallows Isaac whole, and Isaac gasps and throws an arm over his eyes. Chris has never done this before, never wanted to, but now, he’s drowning. Chris holds down Isaac’s hips to keep them lifting off the bed, and Isaac comes silently, fingers grabbing at Chris’ hair. Chris moves back up and kisses him, Isaac soft and pliable beneath him.

Chris is so hard it’s almost painful, and he can’t help rutting against him and digging his nails into Isaac’s hips. Isaac starts making soft gasps and moans again, and Chris tilts Isaac’s head back to make him bare his throat. Isaac’s eyes flash gold and Chris feels a surge of _want_. He finds lotion in the drawers beside the bed, moves one of Isaac’s thighs up and back, and pushes fingers in, watching Isaac’s face for his reaction. He’s hot, hotter than seems possible, and he’s hard again, shifting restlessly against Chris. “Fuck, _please_ ,” he whispers, and Chris puts him on his knees and presses into him, slow, hot, and overwhelming. Isaac is making cracked moans and gasps, his hands sliding forward under the pillows. Chris stills for a moment, waiting for Isaac to relax degree by degree.

Isaac presses his forehead into the pillows. “Move, fuck, please move,” he mutters quietly, and Chris grasps his hips and starts moving, slowly at first then harder and faster. His hand moves to thread through Isaac’s hair, fingers pressing against his skull. Isaac is making low growls in his throat with every thrust, back a sheen of sweat, muscles trembling under his skin. Chris tries to hold back, tries to stay steady, but he can’t keep control of it. He reaches round to grip Isaac’s cock, and it only takes a few thrusts before Isaac is clenching around him and coming with a low groan into Chris’ hand. Chris can’t hold it together, he tips forward and fucks Isaac into the mattress until he comes apart with a choked cry.

He collapses on top of him, their skin hot and sticking together. Chris pulls out, wipes his hand on his discarded t-shirt and lies beside Isaac, trying to slow his breathing down. Isaac finds Chris’ hand and intertwines their fingers, and all Chris can hear is the sound of their breathing.

 

***

 

He promises Isaac he’ll stay. That they’ll always be together. He promises; right up until the day he leaves him.

 

 


End file.
